The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane: A sweet, uplifting rural romance

By Lilac Mills

When a local meadow is turned into a bee-friendly allotment, will romance also blossom?

New teacher Ceri has enough on her plate trying to keep her class in line and get them excited for her Foxmore wildlife efforts. Then she meets the mysterious – and occasionally grumpy – Damon, whose orchard she’d like to explore.

Rock star Damon has moved to Foxmore to escape the hounding paparazzi following the tragic death of his bandmate. Relocating to somewhere quiet and isolated is just what he needs to recover. Ceri is a ray of sunshine, but he’s not ready to share his dark secrets with her.

As love blooms, will Damon’s hidden past get in the way of their happiness? And can he bring himself to give up his music for love?

A gorgeously tender, uplifting romance in the heart of Wales, perfect for readers of Mandy Baggot, Suzanne Snow and Sue Moorcroft.

Praise for The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘This was a lovely love story. One of those reads that leaves you feeling happy.’ ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Reader review

‘I was engrossed after the first few pages. The characters were brilliant and the setting was stunning… I really felt like I was there. A beautiful romantic story with some bittersweet moments.’ ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Reader review

‘Another great instalment from Foxmore village… I can’t wait to visit again.’ ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Reader review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Canelo Romance
• Release date: Jan 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9781800328839

Lilac Mills

Lilac Mills lives on a Welsh mountain with her very patient husband and incredibly sweet dog, where she grows veggies (if the slugs don't get them), bakes (badly) and loves making things out of glitter and glue (a mess, usually). She's been an avid reader ever since she got her hands on a copy of Noddy Goes to Toytown when she was five, and she once tried to read everything in her local library starting with A and working her way through the alphabet. She loves long, hot summer days and cold winter ones snuggled in front of the fire, but whatever the weather she's usually writing or thinking about writing, with heartwarming romance and happy-ever-afters always on her mind.

Book preview

To my family, all my love, always…

Chapter 1

Black was the colour of the day, despite the sun shining out of a clear blue sky and the lush growth of late spring. The graveyard was alive with shades of green, and dotted with highlights of yellow, pink, red and orange from the tulips nodding between the headstones. Birds sang, and squirrels scampered along the branches. So much life amidst the presence of death was hard to take.

Damon Rogers briefly closed his eyes, grief swamping him.

‘OK?’ Luke asked.

Damon felt a hand on his shoulder and took a steadying breath. ‘Yeah.’

They both knew it was a lie. Luke looked as devastated as he felt. His friend and bandmate usually had a tan, but Luke’s face was ashen and there were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there last month. He was still a handsome guy, with his shoulder-length blond hair and chiselled features, but now he seemed older than his twenty-eight years. Damon’s heart ached. Aiden would never age – he would remain twenty-nine forever.

‘Oh, God.’ Luke jerked his head towards the road as a hearse and two black limousines pulled up.

‘I can’t do this.’ Damon wanted to be anywhere but here. He didn’t want to say goodbye to one of his best friends. He wasn’t ready.

‘You have to. It needs six of us.’ Luke was shaking, but his expression was resolute. Hard, even. There was anger beneath the devastating grief.

Damon hadn’t reached that stage yet. He was still battling with disbelief. How could this have happened? Aiden was too young, too full of life and laughter to be lying in a coffin.

Swallowing hard, he straightened his shoulders. Luke was right. The last thing he could do for Aiden was to make sure his send-off went smoothly.

A glance towards the door of the church revealed that the mourners were now inside. Then he looked back at the hearse and saw Aiden’s mum, dad and his sister, Sadie, climbing out of the first car.

‘It’s time,’ Luke said, taking hold of Damon’s elbow and propelling him towards the pavement and the waiting coffin.

Taking his position, the funeral director uttering muted instructions, Damon felt the coffin’s weight settle on his shoulders. He met Luke’s eye and nodded slowly. He could handle this. They both could.

Aiden’s father was at the front, one arm linked around the shoulders of the man on his other side, the other holding the coffin. He looked broken but resolute, and Damon couldn’t even begin to imagine what he must be going through. It was bad enough burying a friend… burying a son was unthinkable.

Aiden’s mother, sister, and the rest of the immediate family followed behind, and Damon heard someone sobbing quietly. He wanted to sob himself, but he knew if he gave in to his grief, he might break down completely.

He remembered nothing of the long slow walk to the front of the church, as he concentrated on maintaining his composure and putting one foot in front of the other, but when he finally took his seat on the end of the pew, he bowed his head and allowed tears to trickle down his face.

The service passed in a blur of regret, deep abiding sadness and memories.

When the band’s manager and agent, Frank, spoke of how much Aiden had meant to the two surviving members of Black Hyacinth, and how sorely he would be missed, Damon had to bite his lip to stem the flow, and with every word Frank uttered, Damon’s heart broke anew.

It was too much. Clutching the back of the pew in front for support, he gasped as the memory of that fateful night cascaded through his mind, unannounced and uninvited.

Knowing from bitter experience that there was nothing for it but to ride it out, the church around him faded. Eyes tightly shut, Damon’s breaths came in juddering gasps as he was forced to relive the last few minutes of his friend’s life.

Damon hadn’t been there – Aiden had phoned him from his mobile – but in his mind’s eye, night had fallen and he imagined the headlights flashing past on the opposite carriageway. Music loud enough to burst eardrums, blasted through his head as the memory rose up to sweep him away.

‘Damon, these roads are effing ace, man! No effing speed limit!’ Aiden was shouting to be heard above the music. He rarely turned it down, preferring to yell to make himself heard.

‘Where are you?’

‘Autobahn 2.’

‘How long will it take you to get to Calais?’

‘What?’

Damon took a deep breath and repeated the question, louder this time, ‘How long will it take to get to Calais?’

‘Hang on.’ Mercifully, Aiden lowered the volume. ‘Say again?’

In a more normal voice, Damon repeated for the third time, ‘How long until you are in Calais?’

‘Eight, nine hours tops, but I’m going to stop when I get to Düsseldorf. Shit! Who the hell are you? Where—? Get off. You can’t—’

‘Aiden? Aiden! What’s going on?’

Shuddering, Damon heard Aiden’s voice, screaming ‘Stop! No!’

Music – one of the band’s own records; Aiden yelling; a girl’s voice screaming; the shrieking of tortured metal; roaring, thudding… then silence. Dreadful, heart-stopping silence.

The girl had walked away with nothing more than a broken arm and a bruised face.

Aiden had died at the scene.

Damon didn’t think he would ever get over it.

It took several seconds for the visions and the sounds to fade, and several more until he regained control of his heart rate and his breathing. He would be shaky for a while, but the worst of it was over.

Until the next time.

---

Ceri Morgan slapped her brother’s hand away from his cravat. Huw had been fiddling with it for the past ten minutes and he was getting on her nerves.

Talking about nerves, her brother was a bag of them. She’d heard him get up in the night several times, and when she’d ventured downstairs at ten-past six this morning, he had been sitting in the living room with a black coffee in his hand. She suspected he might have already consumed the recommended daily amount of caffeine, and she had been tempted to whisk his mug away and force him to drink a cup of camomile tea instead to calm him down.

She couldn’t blame him though. She would probably be just as nervous if she were the one getting married today.

‘Let me do it,’ she instructed, and Huw’s arms dropped to his sides.

Ceri squinted at the material, tugging and folding until she was happy that the cravat was sitting just right.

‘There,’ she said, standing back to admire her handiwork. Damn, Huw looked good in his morning suit. Like her, he had dark hair and was tall, but his hair had less of a kink than hers and tended to behave itself. He also carried his height better than she did. She had a habit of slouching if she wasn’t careful.

‘Do I look OK?’ he asked.

‘You look fab. Rowena is one lucky lady.’

‘I think it’s the other way around,’ Huw said, his fingers creeping towards his neck again.

‘Don’t you dare!’ Ceri warned, narrowing her eyes.

Huw subsided, but Ceri knew he was itching to mess with it and she vowed to keep an eye on him. She just needed to make sure he looked presentable when he got to the church. After that, their mum could take over nagging him – if Rowena, his bride, didn’t beat her to it.

He stretched his neck and winced. ‘It’s too tight,’ he complained.

‘Do you want me to fetch Mum? I could, you know. She would like nothing better than to be here, fussing—’

‘God, no!’ Huw shuddered. ‘Do you realise how much effort it took to persuade her not to come to the house this morning? It’s bad enough you being here.’

‘Thanks!’

‘You know what I mean – you can be so bossy.’

‘And you can be so annoying.’ Ceri grinned at her brother and he grinned back. ‘Seriously, Huw, I’m so pleased for you, and I know Mum and Dad are too.’

‘They just want grandchildren,’ Huw replied darkly.

Ceri laughed. ‘It’s not just that – they want to see you happy. And you are, aren’t you?’

‘Ecstatically.’

‘There you go. Grandchildren would be an added bonus, but secretly I think they’re thrilled with Nia. They get a ready-made granddaughter without the nappy stage. Aww, she’s so cute. I can’t wait to see her in her bridesmaid dress.’

‘Speaking of bridesmaids, shouldn’t you be wearing your dress?’ Huw asked.

‘It’ll take me all of two minutes to slip it on,’ Ceri said. ‘I’ve already done my hair and makeup – thanks for noticing.’

‘Are you wearing makeup?’

Ceri pulled a face. ‘When you get to the church, you’d better tell Rowena she looks beautiful,’ she cautioned.

‘I will. And so do you.’

She waved a hand in the air as she headed for the stairs. ‘Too little too late, bro, too little too late.’

She was laughing as she said it though, knowing full well that he had noticed the effort she had taken with her appearance this morning. He should, considering how long she had spent in the bathroom, waxing and buffing, plucking and moisturising. The focus was naturally going to be on Rowena, but Ceri didn’t want to let the side down. Anyway, being maid of honour was the closest she was going to get to being a bride for a while. Having only just moved to Foxmore and with a new job to tackle, she wasn’t planning on adding a boyfriend to her already overflowing plate. Nothing serious anyway, although the odd date with a handsome hunk might do wonders for her self-esteem. The trick was to find a handsome hunk in the first place, and she was looking forward to seeing what Foxmore had to offer.

Ceri slipped the column of champagne satin over her head and wriggled into it, loving the way it clung to her curves and showed them off to the best advantage. She didn’t usually wear dresses, feeling more at home in sweatshirts and jeans, but this one was gorgeous. It had crossed her mind that Rowena might want her to wear something a little fussier, but all Rowena had said was, ‘Wear what you like as long as it’s a dress and the right colour’.

Plain and simple was what Ceri had gone for, and she was pleased with the result. She hoped her soon-to-be sister-in-law would be too, but she guessed Rowena would have far more important things on her mind today than how Ceri looked.

She checked her appearance in the bedroom mirror to make sure she hadn’t messed up her hair or smeared her lipstick as she’d put the dress on, and when she saw that she hadn’t, she took her shoes out of the box. In the same colour as the dress, they matched perfectly, and neither were they ridiculously high, which meant she should be able to wear them all day and into the evening without resorting to kicking them off. Or dashing back to the cottage halfway through the reception to swap them for a pair of daps.

Daps… she smiled to herself. She had only moved into her cottage three weeks ago, and already she could feel herself becoming more Welsh. She actually was Welsh, having been born and brought up in Cardiff, but the city was a fairly cosmopolitan one and she hadn’t heard the word ‘dap’ for a long time, not until she had moved to Foxmore.

Ceri decided to take her trainers downstairs with her and leave them in the hall, in case she needed to nip home and change into them. They weren’t daps as such – the word usually meant the black plimsolls that primary school kids wore for PE – but people in these parts often used it to describe any trainer-type footwear.

She eased her feet into the heels, adding two inches to her height, and wiggled her toes. There, she was as ready as she could be, but as she glanced around the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, she paused.

It still seemed unreal to think she was living here in Foxmore, in this house. When Huw had moved to the village last year, she had been so envious; not just because Foxmore was such a cute village in a picturesque location, but because he had also managed to purchase this wonderful cottage. The first time she’d set eyes on it, she had offered to buy it off him, never once believing it might happen. But when Huw had asked Rowena to marry him, it made sense for him to move in with his fiancée because her house was larger. Which meant that he needed to sell his.

Ceri had leapt at the chance and had officially taken ownership less than a month ago, on the proviso that Huw could spend his last night as a single man under its roof. She figured that ensuring her irritating older brother got to the church on time was a small price to pay.

She could actually see the ancient stone church, where Huw was about to be married, from her bedroom window. It sat in the middle of an old graveyard, with a vicarage to one side and a large field behind it, which currently sported the marquee where the reception would be held.

Ceri’s house, Rosehip Cottage, was the middle one in a row of three pretty cottages on the opposite side of the road from the church overlooking the field, and she thought how lucky she was to live in such a lovely little village.

Foxmore was small, and people here had a tendency to know everyone else’s business, but that was what she loved about it. That, and the ancient stone Celtic cross in the middle of the village green, plus the lovely assortment of artisan shops and the whitewashed old pub that had once been a staging post and was now adorned with colourful planters and hanging baskets.

Foxmore sat at the bottom of a U-shaped valley, surrounded by lush green farmland with a pretty river running through it, and when she looked out of her window she could see the forested slopes of the hillsides above, and the heather-covered mountain of Aran Fawddwy beyond. The range of high, rocky peaks that bordered the village on the north were, for the most part, wild and untamed, home to red kites and kestrels, skylarks and black grouse, and rare wild Welsh ponies and elusive feral goats. Huw had taken her hiking there once, and she had been moved by its wild beauty.

‘You look stunning,’ her brother said as she descended the steep narrow staircase. ‘I never knew you could scrub up so well.’

Ceri gave him an arch look, her heels clacking on the stone-tiled floor as she went into the kitchen, Huw following. He was tugging at the sleeves of his suit and looking pained.

‘What now?’ she asked, opening the fridge and bringing out the bottle of bubbly she had placed in there to chill.

‘I feel a right prat,’ he said.

‘You look it too, but no more than usual,’ she shot back.

‘Not funny, Ceri.’

Seeing how pale he was, she stopped teasing him. Popping the cork, she poured the fizzy golden liquid into a couple of glasses and handed one to him.

‘What are you so nervous about?’ she asked.

He gulped down a mouthful before answering. ‘That she won’t turn up. That I’ll lose the ring. That I’ll fluff my lines…’

‘The last two don’t matter, and as for the first, of course she’ll turn up. I’ve no idea why, but the daft woman thinks the sun shines out of your—’ She stopped and grinned at him. Huw’s smile was rather sickly. ‘Right,’ she announced. ‘I’d better be off if I don’t want to be late fetching Nia. And don’t you be late, either. You’ve got twenty minutes.’

‘It’s only a two-minute walk.’ Huw was fiddling with his cravat again and checking it in the mirror.

Ceri rolled her eyes. ‘I know how long it takes to get to the church. What I’m saying is, make sure you are on time. If anyone is going to be late, it should be Rowena.’

Huw turned a worried face to her. ‘You don’t think she will be late, do you?’

Ceri smiled. ‘No, I don’t. I think everything will go smoothly, and everyone will have a wonderful time. And in just over an hour, you will be married to the love of your life.’ She took both his hands in hers and looked her brother in the eye. ‘You are so lucky to have found each other,’ she said, ‘and I wish you all the happiness in the world. You deserve it.’

Then she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and hurriedly left, so he wouldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes.

Damn it! She vowed she wouldn’t cry, but she had started already. What was it about weddings that made her turn on the waterworks?

She didn’t really need to ask herself the question though, because she already knew the answer: wishful thinking.

---

Aiden’s parents hadn’t wanted a wake, so after the church service and the harrowing secondary service at the graveside to which only the immediate family, plus Damon and Luke, had been invited, Damon was heading back to the car when Sadie waylaid him.

Her pretty face crumpled, and he opened his arms.

She fell into them and he let her sob, her tears dampening the front of his shirt as he stared wordlessly over her head wondering how he could possibly comfort her when he was in dire need of comfort himself.

But nothing anyone could say or do could change the stark reality that Aiden was gone.

‘I’m off,’ Luke said, moving in to hug them both.

Sadie pulled away, her face streaked with tears, her eyes red and sore. Damon suspected he looked just as ravaged. They all did: no one who had known and loved Aiden could believe he was gone.

‘Home?’ Damon asked him. Luke lived in the West Midlands.

‘India.’

Damon blinked. ‘India? Why?’

‘I can’t stay here, man. I’ve gotta, you know… get away for a bit. Try to clear my head.’

‘I wish I could come with you,’ Sadie muttered. Her chin wobbled and she bit her bottom lip.

Luke shrugged. ‘You can if you want. You, too, Damon.’

Damon grimaced. ‘I’m going back to Foxmore.’ He could hopefully grieve in peace in his grandmother’s house in the depths of rural north Wales, where he had spent much of his youth and where he had been the happiest when he was growing up. The little village of Foxmore – and Willow Tree House especially – had been his sanctuary, and instinctively, like a wounded animal, he had fled to the only place he called home. That had been a fortnight ago, and as long as he was careful and didn’t flaunt his presence, no one should find him there.

‘Luke, Damon…’ Frank called. He was standing a respectful distance away and he beckoned them towards him.

‘I swear to God if he wants to discuss the band right now, I’m going to deck him,’ Luke growled.

‘I’ll beat you to it.’ Damon scowled at Black Hyacinth’s manager.

Frank was brilliant at what he did, but his focus was always on the bottom line, and it must be tearing him apart wondering what the two remaining band members were going to do once the dust had settled and they’d had time to take stock of the situation. But Damon didn’t want to think about the band right now. All he wanted to do was to return to Foxmore and hide.

As they approached, Frank said, ‘I thought I’d better warn you that there are a couple of photographers on the pavement.’

Luke’s expression darkened. ‘What the f—’ but before he could do anything daft, Damon grabbed hold of his arm.

‘Leave it,’ he warned. The press would do what they were going to do, regardless of whether they were told to clear off or not. They’d hounded both him and Luke since Aiden’s death, and they certainly weren’t going to wind their necks in and show any respect today, not when they had the prospect of some juicy shots of the two remaining band members on the day of the funeral, and not when the circumstances surrounding Aiden’s death made such a good story.

Luke shook off his hand, but Damon was relieved he didn’t go storming over to confront them. Aiden’s family had enough to contend with, without anyone adding to the drama.

‘There’s another exit around the back,’ Frank was saying. ‘You can leave through there. Aiden’s parents, too, if they want. I’ve sent the cars round.’ He hurried off to speak to them and Damon watched him go.

‘That’s that, then,’ he said wearily. He was so tired, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

‘See you, mate.’ Luke clapped him on the shoulder, and Sadie stood on tiptoe to give him a hug.

‘Will you be OK?’ she asked.

With a lump in his throat, he countered, ‘Will you?’ She shouldn’t be thinking about him at a time like this, but he appreciated her asking.

Her smile was small, sad and heartbreaking. ‘I’ll have to be, won’t I?’

But that’s the problem, Damon thought as he walked around the back of the lovely old church. He didn’t think he’d ever be OK again.

---

‘Doesn’t Rowena look beautiful?’

Ceri glanced up from where she was crouching on the floor, rubbing an imaginary speck of dirt off Nia’s pristine white shoes, to see Betsan, the vicar’s wife, standing next to her.

Betsan was gazing at the bride, who had entered the marquee on the arm of her new husband after having what seemed like several albums’ worth of photos taken. The happy couple were beaming fit to burst, and Rowena was elegant and regal in her dress of ivory satin. Her honey-coloured hair was swept up, soft curls falling around her face, and she looked radiant.

‘She does,’ Ceri agreed, ‘and so does this little munchkin.’ She straightened up and tickled Rowena’s daughter on the ribs. The five-year-old (who kept telling everyone that she was nearly six) squirmed in delight and giggled. She looked so cute in her dress, which was similar to her mother’s but shorter and not as voluminous, and her dark, curly hair was in the same style. Only now it was starting to fall down, so Ceri unpinned it, and using her fingers and a borrowed bobble from Betsan, she raked it into a respectable ponytail.

‘Thanks, Bethan,’ Ceri said. ‘What else have you got in your bag?’ It was rather large.

‘I’ve got three kids, remember? I carry the kitchen sink with me wherever I go.’ Betsan was in her mid-forties, and despite the fifteen-year age gap, was Rowena’s best friend.

‘Can I go see my mammy now?’ Nia asked, for the umpteenth time that day.

Ceri had done her best to keep Nia occupied both during the ceremony and afterwards, whilst the seemingly endless photos were being taken, and she was now exhausted even though Nia’s grandparents had stepped in to help on numerous occasions.

As Rowena glanced around the marquee, Ceri managed to catch her eye and point to Nia. When Rowena spotted her daughter, she smiled and opened her arms, and the little girl flew into them.

Once again, Ceri had tears in her eyes as she looked on fondly. Huw, Rowena and Nia made a perfect family.

‘If Rowena needs rescuing, I’ll look after Nia for a bit,’ Betsan offered. ‘She’s bound to get bored during the speeches.’

‘Thank you,’ Ceri replied gratefully. ‘I didn’t realise just how tiring children could be.’

‘You wait until you’ve got some of your own, then you’ll discover what tired really means,’ Betsan joked. She lifted a glass of wine from a tray that one of the circulating waiters was holding aloft, and Ceri did the same.

‘It will be a while yet,’ Ceri said. ‘I need to find a father for them first. Not that I’m looking,’ she added hastily, lest Betsan got the wrong idea.

Ceri had met Betsan several times since Huw had relocated to Foxmore, but she didn’t know her particularly well. She would like to, though. From what Rowena had told her, Betsan was a right laugh, and Ceri was eager to make new friends. Her old ones mostly lived in Cardiff, and with it being a six-hour round trip from Foxmore to the Welsh capital and back, it was a bit too far to pop in for a cup of tea.

Her new life was here, in this village, and Ceri intended to throw herself into it with total abandon – and that meant making friends.

‘How are you settling in?’ Betsan asked.

‘Great, thanks. I’ve even managed to get a job.’

‘I heard,’ Betsan said with a smile.

Ceri wondered how she could have forgotten that everyone knew everyone else’s business in a small place like this.

‘When do you start?’ Betsan